


Velvet Heat

by Megabucks



Category: Original Work
Genre: Erotic, Erotica, F/F, LGBT, Lesbian, One Shot Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 00:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16006358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megabucks/pseuds/Megabucks
Summary: A one (or two-shot) collection of erotic-based works focused on f/f pairings.





	1. A Dark and Steamy Night (1 of 2)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Wattpad but some lovely anonymous person had them deleted. Therefore, instead of arguing decided to bring my little collection over here.

**A Dark and Steamy Night**

 

**Part 1 of 2**

 

As cliche as this sounds, it’s a dark and stormy night. Although my bakery shouldn’t close for nearly another hour, I’ve been pondering turning the sign on the glass door around to ‘closed’ since I doubt anyone else will wander in. Anyone with a lick of sanity is probably safe at home or on their way there. Suppose the blonde seated at a table near the window might be lacking in sanity as she doesn’t seem bothered by all the thunder, lightning and the frigid raindrops falling so hard it sounds like a large group is throwing pebbles at my building.

She has said very little since entering just minutes before the sky really opened up. Ordering the house blend coffee and a lemon pastry she polished off the sweet item pretty quickly and has since softly asked for two beverage refills. For a moment I pondered if she could be homeless, which was why she might not have been in a hurry, but then decided she wasn’t. Though her clothing was damp from the rain she looked too neat and clean, fingernails trimmed short and well buffed and each time I approached the table to pour more coffee into her cup I caught a whiff of Irish Spring soap. Also, I recalled there was a decent-sized stack of bills in her wallet when she paid.

“Ma’am?”

Rapidly blinking, I look toward her table catching her gaze. I told her my name the first time she referred to me as ma’am, but she merely acknowledged it with a nod, a glimpse of a smile and continued calling me ma’am though I’m positive we have to be around the same age. It doesn’t bother me too much though because she sounds so courteous in that adorable southern accent. “Yes?”

“Do you by any chance know of any motels ‘round here?”

Ah, so she doesn’t live in this town. Although I should have already figured that out on account of Hamshire being such a small place. Not so small that everyone is privy to your private affairs, but small enough half of them might be. Perhaps she’s passing through on her way back down South? I’m not the best at guessing where someone is from based on their accent, but I’m thinking my last customer might hail from Texas.

I nod while running a sanitizing wipe along the counter pausing to point toward the right. “If you’ll continue along Blueberry Street going that way about two miles down make a left on Willburn and just a couple blocks down is the Willburn Inn on the right side. Can’t miss it. Has a large neon orange sign.”

Having just taken a sip, she slowly sits her cup on the table while looking at me. “Will...burn? An establishment called that could make one hesitant to visit.”

Observing another glimpse of a smile I chuckle. “I won’t promise anything, but I do know the Willburn Inn has been open and smoothly running for close to twenty years. Not a single flame to date.”

“All right.” She stands up, pulls that brown leather wallet from the back pocket of her blue jeans soon tossing money on the table although she’s already paid. I suppose that must be my tip, but for what? Providing a single pastry and two refills while having the opportunity to gaze upon someone who just might be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen face to face? I should be giving _her_ a tip. Light green eyes meet mine again. “But if the inn engulfs in flames while I’m tucked in bed in a deep sleep I’m gonna have to come back and haunt you, ma’am.”

Those words along with an accompanying wink cause to me to laugh. She’s been so serious and quiet I’m quite fascinated by this sudden display of a sense of humor. “The idea of ghosts freaks me out, but I completely understand and wouldn’t blame you.” Though we haven’t spoken much and a great part of me wants to head home I feel sad that she’s reaching for the light jacket draped across the chair opposite hers. The Willburn Inn will probably have her for a night and then this beautiful creature will depart our smallish town forever. “Do you need a ride?” I inwardly sigh when she shows me a ring of keys. So no bus, plane, train or hitchhiking transportation required.

“Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am. Sincerely the best java I’ve ever tasted.” She flinches in response to thunder rumbling above then makes her way over to me extending a hand. I grip that hand finding her palm calloused, warm and strong.

“You’re very welcome and thank you for the compliment.” I reluctantly release. “Know you’re leaving, but what’s your name?”

“Rowan.”

I smile. “That’s a nice name. Never met a Rowan.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Lucy.”

Rowan nods jabbing a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the door, which would lead out my bakery. “I should go.”

“Where are you going?” What business is it of mine? Absolutely none. I’m just trying to delay her. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem aggravated with me. Yet.

“The Willburn Inn.”

“No, I mean where is your final destination? I’m guessing you’re from Texas. Sounds like Texas.”

That glimpse of a smile appears a bit broader. “You’re correct, ma’am. I’m a born and bred Texan.” She runs her fingers through golden locks that are about chin length. “Though I’m not headed there. My final destination…” Rowan’s expression turns thoughtful. “I’ll know when I get there.”

Therefore she doesn’t have a particular place in my mind. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest she stick around Hamshire for a while, but my mouth refuses to form the words. Instead I wish her safe travels and the best of luck finding her new home. Thanking me, Rowan heads toward the door and for the first time I notice she has a slight limp. When I ask if she’s okay she turns back to me and I indicate her right leg.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m fine. It tends to stiffen with the cold weather.”

“Want some pain reliever? I have Tylenol.” My God, like a dog with a bone. Just let the woman go, Lucy!

A faint smile offered Rowan repeats that she’s fine and resumes her walk coming to an abrupt halt just a couple feet from the door as what might have been the loudest thunder and brightest lightning bolt suffused the sky. I hear her murmur an expletive, an athletic body rigid while her hands are clenched at her sides. Someone is not a fan of thunderstorms. At first I thought all the rain and noise didn't faze her but I'm starting to get the impression my initial assessment was incorrect. Initially, Rowan just hid it better.

“You could just stay here you know,” I hear myself say without giving the invitation any thought. Then I nod to myself. Yes, it's a good thought. My bakery has an apartment on the second level, which I’ve rented out. Roger, who I coincidentally used to babysit when I was in high school graduated from college and found employment three-hundred miles away. He had rented the apartment during his last two years of college and moved out a couple months ago. I've been thinking about taking out an ad in our local newspaper for a new tenant but in the meantime Rowan is more than free to stay there. I point toward the roof once she focuses on me. “Apartment upstairs. I wouldn't mind at all.” I smile at her. “And in the morning you may have first pick at hot and fresh donuts. Best java you've ever tasted included.”

Though hers doesn't last as long Rowan returns my smile. “Thank you, but you shouldn't open your home to strangers. I don't mean you any harm, but there's no reason you should believe me.”

She's right yet I shrug. “I choose to believe you. Can’t explain it. Just have a good feeling about you. Plus, I don't live there. My house is five miles away--five point three to be exact. So you'll have the place to yourself. Usually rent it out, but it's vacant. Electricity, gas and water work. Not the biggest apartment but might be better than the Willburn Inn and free of charge.”

“Are you sure, ma’am?” At my nod the largest smile yet blooms on her face. “I accept.”

 

@@@@@@@@@@

 

A large black duffel bag slung over her shoulder, Rowan follows me to the second level as I chatter on about nothing in particular. It’s a sign that I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? All I’m going to do is give her the quick tour, wish her a good night, close up the shop and start the drive home. Sliding the key into the lock I sigh. I hate driving in the rain. Also hate driving at night and the torrential rain along with the thick, gray clouds make it appear that much darker outside. Sometimes I feel like I’m twenty-nine years of age going on eighty-nine.

Door pushed open, I feel for the switch light flooding the compact living room. I step out the way for my guest to enter first. “Welcome to Lucy’s Love Shack.” Someone smack me upside the head. Please. Why did I say that? I meant to call it Lucy’s Inn, but the words love and shack tumbled from my mouth without my brain’s consent. Fortunately, Rowan only releases a low chuckle as she walks by me.

Duffel bag dropped on the floor she makes a 360 degree turn the expression she's wearing alerting that she likes what she sees. Though there isn't much to it since Roger left taking everything that belonged to him. The living room contained a sofa placed in front of a picture window with an oval wooden coffee table a couple feet in front of it. The wall opposite had an entertainment unit with a flat screen television, a stereo system, a DVD player and about thirty hard and soft cover fictional books. A couple landscape paintings I purchased at a garage sale on the wall completed the room’s decor.

Door shut, I observe Rowan meandering toward the books. A long finger grazes along the books spines until with raised brows she selects one. Pulling it out she reads the cover then looks toward me. “ _Assisting Miss Adams_?” That time I'm greeted with a glimpse of a grin. “Did these belong to your last tenant or are you a fan of lesbian literature?”

I nervously nibble my bottom lip. “Um, those are mine. Put them there after he left since the unit looked so sparse. Have you read that?”

She nods while returning the novel to its designated slot. “Kept my mind busy while recovering. Great read.” As though she can tell I'm about to ask what she recovered from Rowan switches subjects, asking me to show her the rest of the apartment.

The tour doesn’t take long as there isn’t much space. A small kitchen, full bathroom and one bedroom completed it. Though there wasn’t any food the kitchen was stocked with everyday appliances such as a microwave, stove, refrigerator and even managed to tuck a dishwasher in there. The bathroom had a basic bathtub with a showerhead installed and the bedroom a queen-sized bed, a nineteen-inch television that rested on the dresser and one nightstand next to the bed with a lamp and clock upon it. Next to the closet was a desk with matching chair.

Back in the living room with Rowan she briefly displays a pleased smile. “I love it.”

“Love? It’s so tiny.”

“Perfect for me. I’ve slept in much tinier.”

Prison. The invisible light bulb above my head activated. Could she have recently been released from prison? Perhaps that’s where she injured her leg. Another prisoner shanked her. Then again binge watching _Orange is the New Black_ might be sending my imagination into overdrive. “Where have you slept?” I casually inquire. At least to my own ears I sound casual.

“Many places.”

Well that doesn’t help at all. Deciding not to push, I remind my guest that there are towels and washcloths in the linen closet in case she cares to take a shower though she already smells good. I keep that last part to myself. When I offer to bring her up some food before I leave Rowan declines stating the pastry would sate her until morning. I don’t believe that’s a proper dinner but again I won’t push. “Could I at least get you some bottled water? Maybe a couple sodas? Coffee? Tea?” I smile when she says yes to having some bottled water for the refrigerator. “That’s all?”

“Until morning, yes. Then I’ll take you up on the java and donuts.”

 

@@@@@@@@@@

 

Storm raging outside and closed sign put into place, I’m tidying up the bakery almost done except for needing to sweep and wipe down the tables. I’m halfway through achieving the latter when catching movement from the corner of my eye I nearly jump out my skin. Head snapping up, I view Rowan standing just in front of the door that led to the second level. Hands raised she’s quick to apologize for startling me.

“No worries, Rowan.” A hand pressed to my chest I detect a pounding heart. “Although I’m now contemplating putting a bell around your neck.” I hear the tiniest chuckle followed by another apology. “Change your mind about the food?” I’ve already given her four individual bottled waters and threw in two pastries, glad when she accepted them.

“No, ma’am. Came down to ask if I could help you clean up.” I’ve lowered the lighting in the bakery but those pretty eyes shine bright while glancing around. “So may I?”

I would decline, but since I enjoy her presence I put her to work sweeping. Besides the storm all is quiet for the next few minutes until Rowan inquires how long I’ve owned the bakery. Oh good, she’s up for conversation. I finish sanitizing a table before standing up and turning in her direction. “Almost five years. It used to belong to my aunt and I started working here when I was a teenager so I have enough experience I could probably whip up a donut, cake or pie with one hand tied behind my back.” I wink at her and she smiles back. “Seven years ago my aunt was diagnosed with cancer--incurable--and because her son and daughter never took an interest in producing and selling baked goods she started grooming me to take over. Six months before she passed I did and I’ve never regretted it. I love this place.”

“Sounds like y’all were close. My condolences, ma’am,” Rowan softly says. “What is your aunt’s name?”

“Thank you, Rowan. We were. Loved her very much. Her name was Patricia Morrison.”

“Tonight when my knees hit the floor I’m gonna send up a prayer for Patricia. I mean, I know she’s just fine, happy and free from pain in heaven, but she’ll be in my prayers. You too.”

All right. Rowan...whatever-her-last-name-is has to be the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Or at least the sweetest person I’ve met lately. Cleaning rag tossed on the table, I briskly walk in her direction having every intention of enveloping her in a hug. That is until she grips the broom with both hands, holding it like she has every intention of striking me with it. It’s my turn to apologize as I take two steps backward. “Didn’t mean any harm. Just wanted to...hug you. For being sweet. The prayer. Thought that was sweet of you.”

She stares at me for a moment, blinks, then stares toward the broom as though she doesn’t have a clue how it got in the position optimal for weapon use. An apology rushing from her lips, Rowan drops the broom, the long wooden stick slapping against tiled flooring. “Are you okay, ma’am? Did I frighten you?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about me. Are _you_ okay?” Listening and carefully watching, her lips utter a near convincing yes while her eyes clearly say no. I dare to take a couple steps toward Rowan moving in slow motion. “What’s wrong?” Like I’m attempting to communicate with a skittish horse I purposely keep my voice soft and gentle. “What was that all about?”

I get the distinct impression she’s weighing the pros and cons of her response as she gazes toward a point over my shoulder. Right hand slowly moves toward her neck, fingers wrapping around a ball chain, which Rowan begins to free from underneath her shirt revealing a pair of identical oblong-shaped stainless steel tags, edges wrapped in a black material. One rests a bit lower than its twin on a separate and shorter ball chain. That makes sense. Makes more sense than my convicted criminal theory.

“You’re a soldier.” Although I would like confirmation my words resemble a statement because I’m quite confident I have it correct this time.

“Yes.” Following a pause she adds, “I was.”

“What happened?” I’m reminded of her leg. Maybe she was released from duty for medical reasons.

“Honorable discharge.”

“That’s the best right?”

I’m offered another glimpse of a smile. “Correct, ma’am.”

“How long did you serve?”

“Eleven years.” It would appear Rowan can read my mind since before I can ask she says, “I’m thirty. Was discharged almost eight months ago.”

“You sign up after graduating high school?” She nods. “From the bottom of my heart I thank you for your service. For being so brave to fight for our country and continuously put your life on the line. You have balls.” I have to laugh when Rowan makes a show of feeling along her crotch.

“Are you sure?” She feigns worry. “‘Cause I can’t find ‘em. Must be smaller than an unshelled peanut.”

I laugh even more. “You’re funny, Rowan.”

Picking up the broom my guest looks skeptical. “Think you’re the first person to ever say that to me.” She taps the broom against the floor. “Let’s finish up so we can go chill out upstairs. I have a deck of playing cards in my duffel. We can play something.”

I blink several times as her words sink in. _We_ go upstairs? Hadn’t I told her I would be heading home once I cleaned up and closed the bakery? Once again Rowan easily locates the path to my thoughts.

“You don’t think I’m gonna let you go home in this weather do you?” She glances toward the windows blurred by falling, chilly rain. “I suggest you stay put, ma’am. Take the bedroom. I sat on that couch. Could sleep on that couch no trouble.”

I would decline but I really really enjoy being in her presence, which may have doubled since her return downstairs. I smile. “Guess we’re roommates for the night.”

“Yep. At Lucy’s Love Shack.” Rowan struggles not to grin while I feel my cheeks heating up.

 


	2. A Dark and Steamy Night (2 of 2)

**Part 2 (conclusion)**

 

Rowan and I played a few card games and I sucked at them all except Go Fish. Afterward, I convinced her to eat dinner with me, which I prepared in the kitchen after going back to the bakery to raid the refrigerator for necessary ingredients. Dinner eaten and the kitchen cleaned up, we settled on the couch to watch a romcom movie, which had just gone off. As the credits roll, I reach for the remote to turn the television off, the storm instantly making its presence known.

I glance toward my watch. I should be getting to bed. That was the drawback of owning a bakery and promising to have fresh donuts early every morning so those customers traveling to work or school can stop by on their way--you had to be up at the ass crack of dawn. Therefore, I should get up and march myself to bed so I may meet my baking team before the sun rises.

However, my body refuses to budge. “Rowan?”

“Yes?”

I look toward her noticing she’s gazing toward the television despite its blackened screen. “You can tell me to mind my own business and I’ll understand.” She turns to me with an expression I’m unable to decipher. Though I haven’t an iota of a clue what she’s thinking I continue. “Just wondering...why exactly were you presented with an honorable discharge?” I’m relieved I haven’t pissed her off. At least I don’t think so. Her expression hasn’t altered much.

“Hurt in the line of duty.”

I want to ask for details, but I’m hesitant. Putting myself in Rowan’s shoes I wouldn’t want some chick I just met a few hours ago grilling me. Especially about something so momentous. I’m about to declare I’m going to bed when she reads my mind again.

“I won’t go into specifics considering what our mission entailed, but there were eight of us with myself being the only female.”

Standing up, Rowan pulls her wallet from her back pocket. Seat reclaimed, she opens the wallet, seconds later removing a photograph, which she hands to me. I smile in response to all the smiling faces focused on the camera. Eight soldiers in fatigues were arranged in two equal rows, four of them standing while the others knelt on one knee in front of them. Rowan was positioned second from the right along the knelt row with her arms wrapped around the shoulders of the muscular men on either side of her. I notice her hair was much shorter when that picture was snapped--trimmed close on the sides and just a little longer on top.

Scooting closer to me, Rowan points out certain soldiers as she speaks. “These four successfully made it out of the danger zone we planned for weeks to infiltrate. These two were immediately eliminated and this one and myself were captured, interrogated and tortured.” There is a chilliness, a severe lack of emotion in her voice as she explains though her eyes tell a completely different story. “I put him out of his misery after a couple weeks. Think it was that long. Difficult to keep up with dates while there.” Settling back on the couch she releases a soft sigh. “Figured I’d meet my maker before long, but somehow kept clinging to life and after fifty-two days in hell I was rescued. Mentally and physically injured I was granted an honorable discharge and awarded for bravery.”

I’m pretty sure I’m looking at Rowan like she just discovered cures for the world’s deadliest viruses. “You’re the most courageous person I’ve ever met,” I say in an awestruck voice.

For the second time tonight she appears skeptical. “What’s so courageous about being kidnapped and held hostage for nearly two months and during that time taking the life of your brother in arms?”

I reposition myself so I can face her. “Why did you do that?”

“He was in so much pain and crying. At first they were harder on him. Think they thought with my being a woman it would be too much for me to witness his torture but it didn’t work. Kept my lips sealed.” Her gaze settles on the couch cushion. “He was younger than me. Had a wife and baby at home. First thing I did after being released from the hospital was to schedule a flight to where they lived so I could talk with her face to face. Tell her what happened and why.”

“How did that go?”

“Better than I expected. Much better. She was so understanding and sweet, which made me feel even worse. I killed her husband and she ends up hugging me while her toddler plays with some building blocks on the other side of the room.”

I softly call her name then wait until she’s looking at me through eyes that have become glassy. “You were put in a terrible, awful position and you did what you had to do. Like you said--you put him out his misery. He was in agony and you made it go away. That was probably one of the toughest things you had to do while over there, wasn’t it?” She nods. “Because of you he’s no longer hurting and maybe you don’t view it this way, but you are courageous.

“You spent eleven years fighting for and serving your country. You were captured, tortured and yet they didn’t break you. And it was so brave to go speak with your comrade’s wife. Rowan, you’re a heroine and whether you believe it or not, you deserve the awards and praise given to you. I look at you and I see a courageous, beautiful and brilliant soldier.”

Her head turned away I think she might be swiping at a tear, but I can’t be certain. When she turns back to me her eyes remain watery yet there aren’t any tracks on her cheeks. “Thank you for saying all that, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

“I appreciate you.” My hand moves to touch her knee, but then I think better of touching her without consent. “Thank you for sharing with me. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“Haven’t talked about it since I stopped seeing the therapist.”

“Why did you stop?”

“‘Cause I wanted to travel.” Rowan shakes her head. “Not entirely true. I was tired of talking with her. She was nice and all, I just didn’t...couldn’t keep going there twice a week discussing my feelings. Didn’t really feel it was helping me. And my family. I know I’m blessed ‘cause I have me a great, supportive and loving family, but some of them were driving me batshit. Even more batshit than I already am. Especially Mama. She meant well, but she was constantly hovering and I just needed some space.”

“So you packed a duffel bag and left Texas?”

That time she nods. “I call them a couple times a week though.”

“Good you keep in contact.”

Rowan agrees and then checks the time. “You have to be up early. I don’t wanna prevent you from getting sufficient sleep.”

I reluctantly admit I should be going to bed. Standing up, I perform a stretch and turn toward my guest asking if I can help her pull out the couch to make up her bed. I’ve already provided her with bedding, which is stacked on the coffee table. When she tells me she has it all under control I wish her a good night and turn to leave just as a particularly loud boom of thunder reaches our ears. I gasp when strong hands grip my hips, tugging me forward with such force that I end up sprawled atop Rowan, hands automatically gripping tense shoulders.

At first we wordlessly stare at one another, a pair of frightened green eyes roaming every inch of my face while those hands continue holding me in place. Though to be honest even if she had already released me I wouldn’t be in a hurry to escape her lap. An apology finally pushed from her mouth Rowan snatches her hands back as though I’m on fire.

“It’s okay,” I softly reply. My right hand slides along her shoulder, up the side of her neck and its fingers brush her jaw before my palm cups a soft cheek. “The storm won’t hurt you. Nothing and no one here means you any harm, Rowan. You’re safe. I promise.”

She kisses me. It isn’t the longest or most thorough of kisses, but it’s enough to send a tingly bolt through my length. My lips part for speech but Rowan beats me to it by issuing another apology. I remark that she apologizes far too much and so what happens next? She apologizes again. Head cocked to the side I stare at her. “Apologizing for frequently apologizing? Really?”

“Sor--you should go to bed, ma’am.”

“You kissed me.”

She bites down on a lower lip I find myself wanting to bite. “I did.”

“Why?”

Her mouth opens and closes so many times that I’m about to let her off the hook. However, she finally begins speaking before I can. “Just suddenly wanted to. It felt right though I understand it was wrong.”

“Then you’re the only person in this room who feels that way,” I softly reply taking a moment to gaze toward her mouth. “In my opinion it felt right and was totally right to do. In fact,” the padding of my thumb grazes her bottom lip, “I think we should kiss again.”

“I haven’t...been almost three years since I’ve kissed or done anything more with a woman so...might not be good at it.” So that confirms it. Rowan’s penchant for lesbian literature had me wondering if she held an attraction toward the fairer sex though I didn’t want to assume. Just because someone enjoys reading material that doesn’t focus on a heterosexual couple doesn’t mean they’re part of the LGBT+ community. I suddenly feel like performing jumping jacks but that would require departing from her lap and I’ve already decided I really really like her lap.

A smile tugs at my lips. “They say it’s like riding a bicycle.”

Amusement flashes across her face. “Yeah? Is that what they say?” When I nod calloused, warm palms cup my face and Rowan unhurriedly leans in for a more thorough taste, which within seconds has me emitting pleasurable moans. Those moans intensify when a velvet tongue enters, finds and leisurely dances with mine. I throw my head back when that mouth leaves mine only to kiss a damp trail along my jaw and down to my neck where it suckles a rapid pulse point.

I don’t remember how it happened. Perhaps they magically fell off, but the next thing I know it my shirt and bra are on the floor and that mouth seems to be feasting all over my chest while a hand slips behind the waistband of my pajama bottoms. I think we’ve both forgotten all about the continuing storm as two long digits stroke my length, soon locating an already emerging nub. I gently rock my hips anticipating that all important moment when she’s inside me. Oh goddess, how much I want and need Rowan deep inside me.

However, she seems hell bent on teasing me, purposely staying outside swelling folds, fingers lightly stroking my nub to hardness. My thighs squeeze on either side of hers as I enjoy the flicks of her tongue against my nipples, every so often her hot mouth enveloping one of them producing the most delicious sucking sounds.

“Rowan,” I whisper, gasping when she flips our positions, my body occupying the space she had just been seated.

The coffee table pushed out of her way she kneels on the floor, fingers hooking into the sides of my pants. To aid her I raise my hips so she may tug the pajama bottoms away along with my underwear discarding both over her shoulder. Smouldering eyes meeting mine, Rowan pushes my thighs apart and trails her fingers upward. My breath becomes more shallow the closer those fingers get to my center. However, they bypass them and continue their travels up my stomach.

I cry out, the base of my head striking the back of the couch when they tweak saluting tips. Those cries morph into mewls when the tip of that velvet tongue begins tracing random patterns along my thighs taking the same path as her fingers. Warm breath caresses my folds before lips nuzzle, butterfly kisses driving me crazier. Hands balled into fists at my sides, through half-lidded eyes I observe a blond head while internally begging Rowan to use her tongue.

She reads my mind again. Abruptly, the flat of her tongue takes a leisure journey along my sex, traveling up, then down repeating twice before finally including a sensitive bundle, taking a stroll around and atop it as my fingernails dig into the flesh of my palms. I so want to clutch her head, but I’m hesitant since I’m not certain it would be welcomed. The last thing I want is to startle Rowan prompting her to stop manipulating my body so expertly for someone who has been in a sex-free zone almost three years.

Her name is joyfully exclaimed when that tongue slips inside me, plunging as deeply as possible. In and out, in and out. She has such a steady pace, that blond head bobbing taunting me to touch it yet I don’t. I do rock my hips pressing my crotch against her face doing my best to ride that mouth. The soles of bare feet pressed to the carpeted floor, my toes curl as fingers massage a recently abandoned nub.

It’s not going to be much longer. I can’t wait much longer and it doesn’t help that Rowan’s pace has increased, tongue thrusting and wiggling while fingers feverishly stroke. Repeatedly, I remind my lover of her first name, back arching, hips thrusting in synchronicity with exploring velvet. Seconds later I explode coating her tongue and mouth with my juices, continuing to rock because I’m greedy and want to experience every single bit of that explosion.

I resume mewling while she laps up the traces of my climax and when she raises her head her lips shine as though she just applied gloss. I want to say something but no words are forthcoming. It’s all right because Rowan just gets to her feet, leans in and kisses the hell out of me. Hands gripping her shoulders, I taste myself in a furious kiss, suckling the tongue that just delivered such intense pleasure.

Grabbing my legs, Rowan wraps them around her torso and severs the kiss, her breathing elevated. Eyes a deeper shade of green staring at me, she reaches underneath to clutch my cheeks. “Hold on to me,” she instructs in a raspy voice. I wonder why yet I don’t ask questions. I soon discover the reason when she picks me up displaying the ease of someone merely carrying a sackful of cotton. Arms around her neck and legs tightened around her torso, our kisses resume during the walk to the bedroom. I worry about her leg since she’s still limping, but Rowan doesn’t seem bothered by it.

Deposited on the bed I lean up on my elbows to watch her pull her shirt over her head. Sports bra following shortly thereafter, I sit up and scoot toward the end of the bed, feet planted on the floor as I dare to touch her sides. Since she doesn’t seem bothered by that either, I lean forward to scatter kisses along a flat belly, paying extra attention to the scars found there. Hearing a murmured apology I pause and gaze up at her.

“For what, sweetie?”

She points to a raised pinkish scar that I would guess to be about two inches long just above her navel. Anger burns within as I wonder what her captors did to cause it. “For these. They’re all over my body.”

Noticing she’s about to step back I swiftly wrap my arms around her and take the time to kiss that particular scar before responding. “Rowan, please don’t be ashamed of your scars because every one of them proves that you’re a survivor. They prove just how strong you are. I’m honored to be here with you right now. Like I said earlier you’re brilliant.” I commence to showing her just how honored I am by intentionally kissing every beautiful blemish I can find and when I glance up I notice her eyes are watery again. By the time I help her to discard her pants and underwear and kneel before her to kiss additional areas the skin has been disturbed a few tears have escaped.

Encouraging Rowan to lay upon the bed I spend a few moments gazing the length of her while reminding her just how beautiful she is. Her cheeks turning rosy I crawl up to adequately kiss them then her mouth, ever so slowly making my way down. It doesn’t take long for my lover to squirm, hands grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread as my busy mouth sucks and kisses along Irish Spring scented skin.

With the bottom of her feet pressed into the mattress and thighs spread my head dips between them. Fingers parting moistened folds, I softly blow causing her to shiver. When I repeat the action a third time Rowan doesn’t hesitate to reach for my head. “Need your tongue, please.”

I am more than willing to oblige, but I need something first. “Whose tongue do you require?” She uses her free hand to point at me and I shake my head. “Who am I...Rowan?”

Evidently her brain isn’t too foggy with desire since it takes her all of three seconds to comprehend what I want. I’m presented with a small smile. “Please put your tongue inside me, Lucy.”

She sounds so southernly sweet that my tongue immediately commences to feasting upon her natural sweetness. One taste of her and I’m already addicted. My initial plan was to take my time, but I’m unable to control myself. Based on her moans and the fingers digging into my scalp I get the impression my lover doesn’t feel the need to complain.

Desiring that nub in my mouth, I wrap my lips around it, tongue lashing back and forth while I plunge two fingers within her, curving them with my palm upward. Rowan’s hips rock so fast the bed moves and just as I think I’m about to encounter her g-spot she shifts away pulling herself off fingers slick with her sweetness. I’m concerned thinking I might have done something to upset or hurt her until I see her face and the index finger beckoning me closer.

“Sit up and spread your legs,” she instructs.

Dilated pupils watch my every move as I comply. Oh goddess, my heart pounds faster underneath my chest when I learn what she’s up to. Our legs spread the cool air reaches throbbing centers until with Rowan’s left leg resting atop my right and her right leg underneath my left she scoots forward to press herself into me. Arms stretched behind us with palms against the mattress it doesn’t take long for us to establish a rhythm.

Moans meet and blend in the air while our juices blend between us. Mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, I lean in to fondle them, lightly tugging and pinching rosy tips every so often until distracted by the hand clamping on the nape of my neck. Pulling me closer, Rowan’s dewy forehead grazes mine and seconds later my panting mouth is being ravished while our sensuous ride continues.

Less than two minutes later I finally obtain that hug. This time Rowan doesn’t mind because instead of searching for a broom her arms encircle me too. Lips have broken contact yet our sweat covered bodies are flush against one another while we’re connected at the most intimate region. Difficult to decipher whose breathing is more ragged as we pass air back and forth, Rowan’s forehead to mine, our hips gyrating at a quickened pace. I want to alert her I’m close yet I’ve forgotten how to produce speech. It’s okay though. Those psychic abilities kick in.

“Gonna come with you,” she whispers. “Wanna feel your nectar smear on my thighs, Lucy. Then I’m gonna get between your legs and clean you up.”

That does it. Rowan’s ability to produce speech pushes me over the edge where she shortly joins me. While I’m vocal she doesn’t make very many sounds. I don’t know if she’s naturally quiet or trying to swallow ecstatic cries, but I feel her coming rather than hear her. A tense, strong body clings to me, face tucked to my neck until our ride reaches its end.

My heartbeat nor breathing have a chance to settle when after turning the cover down Rowan sets out to make good on her promise. Since I’ve already come twice I intend to just lay there and enjoy the gentle sweeps of her tongue collecting every drop of arousal. However, I’m shocked (pleasurably so) to discover my ability to come for a third time, which I don’t recall ever happening to me in one night. Twice is even a rarity as usually after a single orgasm I’m depleted. Rowan has me clutching the headboard above as I ride her face until I soar over that edge yet again.

Once she kisses a haphazard path up my body, dog tags cool against overheated skin I cup her face and bring it toward mine for a thorough kiss. It ends a couple seconds before I bring her into my arms, gladdened she allows me to hold her. First arranging the cover around us, I use my fingertips to caress along her back. Asking if she’s okay Rowan nods against my breast.

“Feeling closer to perfect than I have in a long time, ma’am.”

I playfully growl. “You start calling me ma’am again and in the morning I’m going to force you to eat the donut holes. No donuts and java for you. Just holes and water. Not even bottled water. You’ll have to make do with tap.”

Lifting her head, Rowan stares at me with a raised brow. “You call that a threat? I’ve dined on unidentifiable stuff I couldn’t wait to swallow ‘cause it tasted so disgusting and drank water far from being clear and you’re gonna give me donut holes and tap water for breakfast?” Light eyes show a mirthful twinkle. “I say bring ‘em on.”

A gorgeous smile finds her lips upon my laughter. We wordlessly begin to cuddle and in the silence I notice the storm sounds much quieter. I’m on the cusp of drifting off when Rowan says my name. “Yes, sweetie?”

“You mind if I stick around Hamshire for a while?”

If possible my heart would leap from my chest and perform cartwheels around the room. I assumed after I plied her with donuts and coffee Rowan would grab her duffel bag, slide into her car and hit the road and I would never see or hear from her again. “I don’t know, Rowan,” I murmur pushing a dramatic sigh between my lips. “Our population is already near maximum occupancy.” I laugh again when she shifts us just long enough to deliver a yummy swat to my bottom. “Okay, okay. You can stay.”

Lips brush mine. “And may I rent this apartment?”

“No, but you may stay in this apartment rent free.”

Rowan shakes her head. “I like to pay my way, ma’--Lucy.”

“Fine. Rent is one-hundred dollars and due on the first of the month. Plus if you want it I could hook you up with employment at this little bakery. I know the owner. Actually been sleeping with her for twenty-nine years.”

Rowan appears amused. “Five-hundred dollars and though I don’t have much experience working in the food industry I’ll happily take you up on that job.” I’m intent on arguing with that amount until a soft mouth successfully distracts me. Okay, we’ll hash out money later.

Hands down this is my favorite storm ever. 


	3. Come to Charisma (1 of 2)

**Part 1 of 2**

 

Seated at my desk I’m putting the final touches on an article focusing on the top ten places in New York City to purchase tasty tacos when I nearly have the shit scared out of me due to two chilly fingers tapping against the nape of my neck. A yelp released, I swivel around in my chair to discover my boss (who we’ve secretly nicknamed Cruella de Bitch) standing there with a folder in hand and a smirk on crimson painted lips. There’s also a rarely seen twinkle in her eyes. Methinks Ms. de Bitch is amused that she almost scared the shit out of me. Damn, I can’t stand her and would very much enjoy telling her that. However, since I enjoy having a roof over my head and food in my fridge I’ll keep such thoughts to myself and continue collecting a paycheck.

I ask what I can do for her and she tosses the folder upon my lap. “Your next article.”

Since she merely stares at me following the three-word explanation I assume I’m supposed to open the folder, so I do so and promptly gasp. Okay...based on the contents this might be much more interesting than finding and traveling to restaurants in order to sample their tacos. Don’t get me wrong. Though it was an overall scrumptious experience--except for gaining a pound--writing about the best places to buy tacos wasn’t the type of journalism I foresaw myself doing while laboriously studying at NYU.

Then again neither was this. Whatever this is. I’m not certain what to make of the company credit card, photographs of suggestively posed women and a sheet of paper with a website called Carnal Cuties written on it in my boss’s handwriting. Folder shut I look up at her wearing a curious expression. “What do...what is this article to be about?”

Why do I have the sudden feeling for the next article I’d much rather write about the top ten places in NYC to purchase enchanting enchiladas? Does Ms. de Bitch want me to moonlight as a prostitute? If so, I’ll gladly tell her off, pack my belongings and purchase a one-way bus ticket back home to Kansas where Mama will welcome her youngest with open arms and delight in telling me I shouldn’t have moved to the Big Coconut (she knows it’s apple) in the first place.

“You’re gay, right?”

My eyebrows shoot upward. Where the hell is she going with this? “Yes. I am.” After a brief pause I ask, “Why?”

“I want you to log onto Carnal Cuties, create an account and choose one of their female PSO’s to interview.”

Oh thank God. I won’t have to chew her out and return to Kansas. No matter what Dorothy claims about there being no place like home I’d much rather stay here except for major holidays, family reunions and the occasional non-holiday visit. However, I don’t have a clue what a PSO is so I ask her. She sighs and rolls her eyes as though I’m the biggest idiot she’s ever encountered. Excuse me for not being an adult entertainment expert. I’ll admit sporadically I watch vanilla lesbian videos, but that’s about as far as it goes.

“Phone sex operator, Sage.” A manicured fingernail points toward the closed folder. “That’s why I gave you the credit card as you’ll need that on file in order to call someone. The website charges by the minute so I’ll allow you to use the card up to an hour. You shouldn’t need any more than that to accumulate enough information to write a decent article. However, if you should go over an hour I’m going to need you to pay it back. Understood?”

Let me this straight. Number one, once again my boss is telling me what to write instead of allowing me to choose my own topic. Number two, since I’m obviously the office lesbian she wants me to call a female phone sex operator and pepper her with questions though now that I know what she wants it isn’t necessary for me to be gay. Any of my straight, gay, bi or whatever else coworkers could have taken on this assignment. Number three, I have a deadline of an hour and if I should surpass that deadline I’ll have to shell out money. Therefore, it’s like I’m paying to do my damn job.

Yep, that’s all _totally_ fair.

Like usual I keep these thoughts to myself and paste on a smile. “Understood.”

She wiggles that same finger toward my computer screen. “Are you almost done with the taco piece?”

“Yes. Should have it on your desk within twenty minutes.”

“Better be good. And that,” she points toward the folder, “better be brilliant otherwise you can forget your Christmas bonus.” A smile that doesn’t reach her eyes offered Cruella de Bitch makes a one-hundred and eighty degree turn and heads back to her office in those three-inch pumps she has a penchant for wearing.

Not caring that I might resemble a five-year-old (no offense meant to those aged five) I stick my tongue out at her retreating back. Hearing a chuckle I quickly look toward the right where my friend and coworker Emily stands just outside my cubicle. Though my expression is sheepish I too chuckle. “Better than flipping her off.”

“True.” Emily releases a loud sigh. “I’d like to chloroform her, tie her up, toss her in the trunk of my car, hightail it to Niagara Falls, then return with an empty trunk if you know what I mean.”

For the second time in the last few minutes my eyebrows rise. “Um, think I do. Em?”

“Hm?”

“Remind me to never piss you off.”

 

=========================

 

“I need to make a confession,” I say, my voice soft and repentant. “Santa, I’ve been a really naughty girl. Ho ho ho. That’s all I am. Therefore, I think you should make my ass as red as Rudolph’s nose.” A grin slowly forms as I listen to his breathy reply. Wearing a headset leaves my hands free to grab the paddle from the arm of the couch I’m seated on, which I do before repositioning on all fours atop the cushions.

“Oh, Santa, I think you’re capable of spanking me harder than that. Give it to me. Make my cheeks quiver under those strong hands of yours. Do it. Now.” To aid the Christmas themed fantasy we’ve created I reach behind to begin spanking my right cheek knowing the boom microphone near my mouth is high-tech enough for ‘Santa’ to hear. Before long he’s moaning like crazy, his breathing elevated in my ear and considering myself an expert I’m certain it won’t be long until he explodes. He just needs a little more verbal pushing.

“This naughty girl deserves coal in her stocking and your big, hard, yummy candy cane in her mouth.” I hear a softly uttered ‘oh damn’. “I’m gonna suck your candy cane so good, Santa. After I thoroughly move my mouth up and down, up and down it I’m gonna bend over. Then I want you to put your candy cane so deep inside me and ride my reddened ass like you’re in your sleigh.” That ‘oh damn’ upgrades to an ‘oh God’ as my current customer orgasms loud and long.

Smiling, I sit down. “Mmm, you sound so good, Santa, and I love the way you do me. Come Christmas Eve I’m gonna make sure to provide you with plenty cookies and milk.”

Once he’s capable of talking without sounding breathless we spend a few minutes talking as though we’re lovers resting side by side in bed. He asks my opinion on what he should buy his teenaged daughter for Christmas. After I ask him a few questions about her we decide she would probably appreciate a cell phone upgrade since she loved her cell so much the last time she spent the weekend at his place (he and her mother are separated) he noticed her brushing her teeth while rapidly typing.

When we hang up I check the time. Twenty-two minutes. Not bad. Not bad at all. I realize there are millions of people who will judge my side occupation, but honestly? I couldn’t care less. I like what I do and I make no apologies. What do I do? Basically, I make men (mostly) come and I get paid to do it. Suppose you could refer to me as a whore though there isn’t any actual touching involved.

Maybe it’s strange, but I experience a sense of pride when a guy shoots his load. There have been those occasions when for whatever reason a customer has been unable to achieve orgasm, but when they do I liken it to feeling like a chef who has been complimented on the meal they prepared. The funny thing is I haven’t any romantic or sexual interest in men, but I do like helping them sexually via the phone. And it bears repeating I get paid to do so.

The fragrant foil wrapped package gaining my attention, I decide to walk over to my desk, grab the mouse and click to ‘Unavailable’. Often I keep the line open while eating, but tonight is special. Tonight I purchased what I’m proclaiming to be the best meatball sub in the entire world. Now have I tried meatball sandwiches from all over the world? No, actually I’ve tried very few, but this simply has to be the top sandwich. Has to be.

Headset tossed next to the desk, I grab the aromatic package, liberate a bottled beer from the pack in the fridge and settle on the couch to enjoy while watching a recorded episode of _The Big Bang Theory_. Cap twisted off and tossed I take a swig. Aah, could this be any better? Okay, yes, it could. I wouldn’t mind having some true companionship, but my life isn’t exactly lousy.

Sandwich unwrapped I bring it toward my nose and sniff, a smile forming. “Look on the bright side,” I start, speaking to my sandwich like a crazy person, “If I had a girlfriend I’d have to share you. But tonight you’re all mine,” I add using my sexy phone voice. “Come to Charisma.” Teeth sinking into the soft oregano flavored bread I emit a genuine moan.

=========================

 

I’m at home and pacing back and forth in front of my computer. Though I opened the browser over a couple hours ago I’ve yet to log onto the Carnal Cuties website. I’ve been stalling. Cooked dinner, ate dinner, vacuumed my apartment, watered the plants, took out the trash, mopped the kitchen floor, showered and now I’m pacing.

I fancy myself a journalist and I enjoy interviewing people--always have. Remember my six year old self, tiny hand holding a notepad its cover littered with stickers as I peppered various people with questions. Family, friends, teachers, neighbors, my babysitter, the owner of the nearby mom and pop grocery store I walked to a million times through the years… However, never anyone like a phone sex operator.

This is the first time I am truly terrified to pepper someone with questions and it doesn’t help that she--whoever she turns out to be doesn’t have a clue that’s why I’m calling. She’ll initially assume I want to...have...talk dir--oh, God, how am I supposed to do this?

There’s a bottle of red wine in the kitchen with the now spotless floor. Perhaps I should pour myself a glass. Might take the edge off these nerves. Go in there, grab the wine from the cabinet, find the bottle opener, remove the cork, pour wine into a glass and sip until I empty it.

Just further stalling and I don’t want to risk even being a little tipsy. So I’ll leave the wine bottle uncorked. I’ll put on my big girl panties, sit down in front of the computer, type in that web address Ms. de Bitch gave me, select a Carnal Cutie employee and call her.

Internally screaming at myself to sit down I follow instruction. Step one completed. Step two is to visit Carnal Cuties, which I achieve ten seconds later. Greeted with a page I wouldn't want anyone to catch on my screen I grab the mouse, a small, white arrow roaming the page until I locate the signup button. I spend the next couple minutes filling in the form including a section for payment information where I add the details from the credit card my boss gave me.

I thoughtfully sit back in my chair. Reached a box that inquires what name I would like to go by. Whatever I select is what the PSO will see when I call. Deciding to go with my middle name I type in Karina. Looking over the account sign up information I click on the submit button and head to my email in order to activate it.

It’s done. I officially have a Carnal Cuties account. If they were aware Mama and Papa would freak the flip out. I'm fortunate they accept I'm gay (it took Mama a bit to do so) but they would be against any of their five children meeting someone through a phone sex site.

Signing in with the username Karina along with my password, I begin checking out the portion of the website geared toward those searching for female aural dalliances. Arranged in alphabetical order, most of them went by one name, each with a photograph and some information (character bio) attached. I recognize some from the pictures in the folder Ms. de Bitch provided.

Now, which to choose? Wondering if any of these pictures are real, I scroll through them not reading in any particular order.

Lovely Laci. According to her bio the curvy brunette draped across a pool table with polished balls surrounding her was ‘up for anything’, meaning there wasn’t any taboo Lovely Laci would decline to indulge in. I’m impressed. Not by that, but by the portion of her bio stating she fluently speaks three languages besides English--Spanish, Filipino and Portuguese. I imagine that comes in handy and broadens her clientele.

Desire. The redhead bending over to grab what appears to be a wrapped condom from the floor while grinning toward the camera makes it quite clear in her bio that she is into anal play. She even has a tagline--the bigger the better.

Oh. Wow. Ahem, okay, moving on…

Cookie. Sweet name, but the woman in the picture looks anything but wearing a tight black leather outfit, thigh-high boots and wielding a riding crop. She is of course a dominatrix and looks forward to whipping her customers into shape. And oh yeah, submission.

Again, moving on…

Susie. She wears a little dress, a big matching bow in her hair, which is fixed in pigtails and she’s holding a teddy bear. An expert at voices--especially sounding young. Very young.

Yeah, I don’t wish to know anything more about that. Onward I shall move.

Temptation. Claims she’s into most fetishes with some of her favorites being anal, fisting, pet play and golden showers. Not knowing what those last two are I Google them with some hesitance. Discover pet play involves pretending you’re an animal such as a canine or feline. As for golden showers...I can’t bring myself to actually explain. I’ll just leave it at ew, yucky, gross.

Charisma. Supremely busty and blonde, Charisma is dressed in tight blue jeans and a low-cut tank top, one long leg crossed over the other as she sits on a couch offering the camera a coy smile. I like the sexy simplicity of this photo and the accompanying bio doesn’t scare the shit out of me, make me cringe or gross me out.

She’s currently available. Hmm.

Should I call Charisma maybe?


	4. Come to Charisma (2 of 2)

**INT. CHARISMA’S LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT**

 

Charisma is seated on her couch with her feet up on the coffee table watching television when the phone primarily used for accepting Carnal Cuties calls rings. Television muted, she puts her feet on the floor, grabs the phone and looks pleasantly surprised by the feminine name on the screen. Donning headset she answers the call.

**Charisma** : (voice dripping with sultriness) Good evening, Karina.

The other end of the line is one-hundred percent silent.

**Charisma** : (raised eyebrow) Hello? Karina? Are you there, love?

 

 

**INT. SAGE’S LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT**

 

Sage nervously chews on her lower lip while twirling a ballpoint pen between her fingers. So her hands can be free in preparation for the interview the speakerphone on her cell has been activated. She gathers the courage to reply after the PSO calls her name a third time.

**Sage** : (clearing throat) He...hello there. Um, Charisma, right? (a rich chuckle reaches her ears)

**Charisma** : That’s my name, darling. How’re you doing tonight?

**Sage** : Good. (clears throat again) I work...I’m a journalist with Fantabulous Magazine. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but we interview a variety of people and this week I’m writing an article focusing on the world of phone sex operators. Saw your picture and read your bio on the Carnal Cuties website and wondered if I could possibly take this time to pick your brain?

Asked to hold on, Sage nods then remembers to say yes. During the next three minutes a Christmas song plays, which she’s started singing along to when Charisma returns. She looks on sheepishly hoping the woman hadn’t heard her voice. If she did she doesn’t mention it.

**Charisma** : Sorry I was gone so long, darling. Had to run that by my boss. She’s fine with the interview. By the way, you haven’t been charged a cent for this call yet. We’ll start now, okay?

Sage breathes a sigh of relief. That was much easier than she expected. Cap removed from her pen, she grabs a fresh notepad.

**Sage** : Thank you very much, Charisma. Are you ready?

**Charisma** : I’m ready. (stretching out on the couch crossing one ankle over the other) We should set the scene before we began.

**Sage** : What do you mean?

**Charisma** : How about I come to your place? I’ll bring some hot apple cider.

**Sage** : Oh...I...if you want to do this in person why don’t I meet you at a restaurant or-- (abruptly stops speaking when she hears laughter)

**Charisma** : I meant we could use our imaginations. Carnal Cuties operates throughout the United States as well as Canada so I doubt you and I even live in the same state.

**Sage** : I live in New York City. What about you?

Jumping up from the couch, Charisma heads toward the nearest window, pushes the blinds apart and looks toward well lit Central Park.

**Charisma** : Florida. Miami. May I knock on your door, darling?

**Sage** : (her turn to laugh) You must have a rocket ship since you’re able to travel from Miami to NYC so quickly.

**Charisma** : (grinning and walking back to the couch where she chooses to stretch out again) I do. Only cost me half a billion. Speaking of money you’re on the clock so let’s get this party started. I knock at your door and just a few seconds later you open it and you look so damn fine standing there.

**Sage** : (relieved her blush can’t be seen) Me fine? I don’t think so.

**Charisma** : (whispering) Karina, to me you’re beautiful.

**Sage** : (tired of clearing her throat but does it again) I move so you may enter, blonde locks bouncing around your shoulders as you walk into my small and cozy living room. Might I take your coat?

**Charisma** : Shrugging out of my coat I thank you while handing it to you.

Charisma thoughtfully plays with the thin cord attached to her headset. Should she tell her? Probably wouldn’t be such a big deal to reveal that.

**Charisma** : Hand you my wig too.

**Sage** : Wig?

**Charisma** : That’s not me in the picture. It’s my cousin and I paid her for it. At the time she needed the money and I needed a photo since I didn’t want to put a real image up. My cousin on the other hand didn’t care.

**Sage** : So you’re not really a blonde. (writes her first note) Do you and your cousin look alike?

**Charisma** : Our coloring is similar, but other than that no. I’m a brunette, she’s a blonde. She’s tall and I’m five feet and four inches. Her eyes are blue and mine hazel.

**Sage** : The boobs? (startled she actually asked that Sage uses the notepad to smack her forehead)

**Charisma** : (sounding amused) I’m happy with my boobs, but unlike my cousin I’m not sporting a matching set of cantaloupes on my chest.

**Sage** : What fruit would you equate them to? (wonders if she drank that wine and forgot about it)

**Charisma** : Hm, maybe oranges? I’m a 34C.

**Sage** : Nice. (hotly blushing now) I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.

**Charisma** : (amusement having mounted) You say it’s uncalled for yet I’m complimented. Don’t be shy, darling. Feel free to ask me anything you want. You know except for information such as my home address and social security number.

**Sage** : (face remains red yet she manages a short laugh) Okay, so...another question about pictures. The one with your bio isn’t yours. What about other PSO’s? Does anyone use their own photos?

**Charisma** : I happen to know a few at Carnal Cuties who do though I’d wager eighty-five percent of those bio pictures aren’t really the person customers communicate with. Anyone who offers webcam services of course that’s their real picture.

**Sage** : I gather you keep your services strictly audio.

**Charisma** : Mostly. I also engage in text messaging.

**Sage** : How does that work?

**Charisma** : It’s like phone sex except you type instead. Like cybering. Don’t do it via the phone though. I log into the website and if there’s anyone interested in chatting with me much like I did with your call I’ll accept it and we began. I get paid per message and it’s actually the slowest way to make money, yet the easiest unless you have atrocious spelling and grammar. Webcam is the most lucrative because it’s voice and video--customers can see who they’re communicating with so that extra exposure helps your income. Phone sex is between texting and webcam.

**Sage** : Which do you prefer?

**Charisma** : I’ve never done webcam and never will. While I’m a quick typer and it’s easier because you have more time to think about what you want to say, I prefer phone communication. No keyboard necessary, overall faster, get paid more and in my opinion it’s more fun.

**Sage** : Fun. (pauses scribbling notes in order to turn the page) What do you find fun about being a PSO?

**Charisma** : Basically, I love making shit up. (she laughs, the journalist joining in) Up until around age fifteen I would go to my grandparents house every summer for two months. They lived and operated a farm and I loved it. I’d help out feeding the animals, milking the cows, collecting eggs, tending to the crops...however, my favorite part was when my Nana and I would have our adventures. We would travel all over the world through her narrations without having to leave the farm. She taught me to use my imagination. Taught me I can go anywhere and do anything just using creativity.

There is a layer of emotion added to Charisma’s voice. Eyes watery she sits up, leans forward, grabs the beer bottle and drinks the remainder.

**Sage** : (voice gentle) Were you and your grandma close?

**Charisma** : Were?

**Sage** : I take it she...had a feeling…

**Charisma** : She did. It will be three years in February. And yes we were. I'm not her only grandchild, but I've long felt we had the best and deepest relationship. (light chuckle) Then again she could have had the knack for making all her grandkids feel that way. Just awesome enough to pull that off.

**Sage** : I'm so sorry, Charisma. You have my deepest sympathy.

**Charisma** : Thank you, darling. What's your next question?

**Sage** : Why are you a PSO?

**Charisma** : To help pay down loans. Medical school is expensive.

**Sage** : (interest triply piqued) You’re in med school?

**Charisma** : No, I graduated. In my second year of residency.

**Sage** : So you’re _Doctor_ Charisma! (hears a chuckle and smiles)

**Charisma** : Yes, I am.

**Sage** : That’s awesome! So being a PSO helps to lessen those student loans. Have you chosen a field yet?

**Charisma** : I’m working toward being an ER doctor. Love the pace, working on patients with a variety of conditions, illnesses and you’ll never know what you’ll get in the ER. For instance a couple came in last week. Let’s just say that’s not why the screwdriver was invented.

**Sage** : Ouch. (winces) How long have you been a PSO?

**Charisma** : Lemme see...I took a year off before starting med school and that’s when a friend suggested I look into phone sex employment because I have a sexy voice. (laughs) I personally think I sound like I’m an avid smoker yet I’ve never inhaled nicotine or anything else for that matter. So about a year before med school, during med school and now my residency. That’s about seven years.

**Sage** : Wow, so you’ve probably experienced a lot in that time!

**Charisma** : I have. If I cared to write a book about it I’d have a great deal of material.

**Sage** : Okay, so are all your customers male?

**Charisma** : Occasionally a male caller will have his girlfriend or wife either listen in or she'll get involved. Sometimes women call me, but before you I'd guess it's been about two months, so let's say ninety-eight percent of my customers are male.

**Sage** : Do you prefer men? (nibbles on the end of her pen)

**Charisma** : Being a lesbian I'd prefer women, but I don't mind men at all. Men are the reason I don't twinge whenever I see how much left I have to pay on my student loans. (light chuckle) I actually like helping them.

Sage tells herself she's much too pleased that the PSO she selected has turned out to be rainbow family. After all the woman lived in Florida. She would never meet her. Plus she could be taken. Married even. Or crazy. Or married _and_ crazy.

**Sage** : Helping them...come?

**Charisma** : Yes. That is the usual objective and I think it's awesome when they reach it.

**Sage** : Are there occasions when they don't?

**Charisma** : Yes. Most customers do, but when it's difficult we either keep trying, maybe take a break and talk--nonsexually-- for a bit, or they hang up. Sort of upsets me when that happens because I feel as though I let them down.

**Sage** : I'm sure you tried your best.

**Charisma** : Always do, Karina.

**Sage** : Sage.

**Charisma** : Hm? Are you calling me wise?

**Sage** : No. I mean you probably are being a doctor and all. (pauses) Sage is my name. First name. Karina is my middle name. Never use it so it's weird being called it.

**Charisma** : Either name is beautiful.

**Sage** : (cheeks warming) Thanks.

**Charisma** : I’ll start calling you Sage.

**Sage** : And I'll call you…

**Charisma** : Charisma, darling.

**Sage** : Charisma Darling it is.

**Charisma** : (uproarious laughter) You're funny. (checks the time on her phone) Sage, I get paid for every minute I keep you on the phone, which I usually love, but considering this call is business for you instead of pleasure we should focus on the interview. Probably would’ve been better and much less expensive for you to locate a PSO where you live to meet face to face.

**Sage** : No worries. My boss not only gave me this topic but a company credit card so as long as we finish within sixty minutes not a dime will come out my pocket.

**Charisma** : Hold on. You have a time limit on the subject he or she selected for you? Above an hour and you pay the extra?

**Sage** : Yep.

**Charisma** : That’s jacked up!

**Sage** : (eagerly nods) I know, right?

**Charisma** : In that case let’s get on with it, darling. What’s your next question?

Having forgotten where she left off Sage checks her notes.

**Sage** : You mentioned you’re a lesbian and the majority of your customers are male, but do you ever find yourself being turned on?

**Charisma** : I’ve had some fascinating calls during the last seven years, but no, I don’t recall ever being sexually aroused.

**Sage** : Even with female callers?

**Charisma** : Even then.

**Sage** : Have you ever...um, touched yourself? Not because you’re aroused. I know you haven’t been, but when you’re explaining what you’re doing if you say you’re intimately touching yourself, are you really doing so?

**Charisma** : My hands might graze that area, but no, I don’t get that involved. I will spank myself--the call before yours I did that and pretended it was him. If I--Sage, do you mind if I speak frankly or would you prefer that I censor myself? Either way is fine with me.

**Sage** : (already feeling a blush on the cusp of emerging) Don’t censor your words. Let it all hang out.

**Charisma** : Fair warning. I have quite a mouth on me.

**Sage** : As a PSO I would think so.

**Charisma** : Touché. (laughs)

Standing up, Sage heads toward the kitchen, finds that bottle of wine and searches drawers for the corkscrew.

**Sage** : What were you about to say?

Corkscrew located, Sage proceeds to freeing the cork.

**Charisma** : If I tell a customer I’m sucking his cock I might wrap my mouth around a few of my fingers and make purposeful sucking noises. Some love to hear sucking. I also have a box of toys, a few dildos among them. Unless I’m feeling too lazy or tired from a particularly taxing shift at the hospital I’ll go get one of those to suck and lick.

**Sage** : Gotcha. (face hot, she fills a goblet with deep red liquid) Scanning through PSO’s bios, I noticed some mentioned what they will and won’t do. Some were open to any or most taboos. Yours didn’t go into specifics, so do you have a limit?

**Charisma** : I do. Freakiness I don’t mind. If you want me to rub butter all over my naked feet then give you a footjob until you ejaculate all over my toes, no problem. That’s weird but I won’t judge. If you want me to pretend I’m a high school senior and cheerleader I will shake my pom poms in your face. If you want me to put a leash around your neck and treat you like you’re my four-legged pal Rover I can do that. If you prefer to be decorated like you’re an ice cream sundae and you want me to narrate licking you from head to toe I’ll go grab the imaginary ice cream, whipped topping, sprinkles and whatnot.

**Charisma continued** : However, if you want me to pretend I’m a ten-year-old depending on what mood I’m in I might cuss you the fuck out before ending the call. Wish we could get the police involved during those types of calls, but we’re just supposed to hang up if not interested. If your fantasy involves tying me up and forcing me or you want me to put you in that position no thank you. I’ll end the call. As for incest fantasies if it’s step siblings I’m on board. If it’s kissing cousins okay I’m in. If you want me to treat you like you’re my naughty uncle-in-law, brother-in-law or even father-in-law all right. If I’m to be your mother or your sister I will decline politely as possible.

Having returned to the couch during Charisma’s response Sage swallows a mouthful of wine, grabs her notepad and begins to write. She isn’t certain why it matters to her, but she finds herself pleased by what Charisma won’t engage in. Later on she might have a nightmare about buttered feet though.

**Sage** : What scenario do you get asked the most? I’m assuming most don’t want you to um...give them a...footjob.

**Charisma** : (chuckles) True. I don’t often get that request. Hm, what’s a usual request...I guess most just want your standard sex situation on a bed. They tend to like the dirty talk. Some mild others cause me to want to rinse my own mouth out with soap afterward.

**Sage** : Could you give me the mild and mouth rinsing version of a sentence you might use?

**Charisma** : Of course. (a grin emerges as she fingers the headset cord) Let’s say you’re my customer, we’re in bed, you’re atop my naked, writhing body and I feel your hardness between my thighs just resting there. (purposely using her phone sex voice) Are you following, Sage?

**Sage** : (swallowing another mouthful) Um, yes.

**Charisma** : Say I want to ask you to enter me. The mild version of that might be ‘baby, I need the length of you inside me.’ Got that?

**Sage** : (nods, then remembers they’re on the phone) Got it. What’s the um, soap version?

**Charisma** : Put your fat cock inside my dripping pussy. (returning to regular husky tone) That could also work for a female customer if she’s using a dildo. Or if we’re involved in a futanari fantasy.

Sage starts to inquire what futanari is, but decides she’ll look it up later. Page turned, she makes a note to do so.

**Sage** : Does anyone ever call just wanting to talk?

**Charisma** : Oh, yes. I’ve noticed non or mildly sexual calls pick up around the holidays. Especially around Thanksgiving and now Christmas. Think a lot of people are just lonely and this time of year reminds them of that so they call simply looking for someone to communicate with. Someone to connect to even if only a few minutes.

**Charisma continued** : Last week a young guy called and though I immediately detected the melancholy in his voice he said he wanted me to give him a blow job with a beach setting at night. Sometimes I'm really in a creative mood and that was one of those times, so having a vast collection of sound effects, I put on a sound file of waves lapping at the shoreline for us to listen to while I narrated sucking him. My tongue had barely touched his tip when he burst into tears. Come to find out his dad had a massive heart attack two days after Thanksgiving.

**Sage** : Oh my God. (clutching her chest and aching for this stranger) He died?

**Charisma** : Yes. It was a heartbreaking call. Wished I could reach through the phone and wrap my arms around him. We talked for a while, which I felt partial guilt over. This guy is talking about his recently deceased parent and I'm a phone sex operator getting paid by the minute.

**Sage** : Do you think you successfully offered him any comfort?

**Charisma** : I do. I know he's still mourning but when we ended the call he sounded better. A little better.

**Sage** : Then so what you got paid. He called searching for something and you were there for him. Even if it was only a little you eased the pain. You're like a really sexy therapist. (smiles once she hears a faint laugh)

**Sage continued** : Juggling Carnal Cuties with your residency how many days per week do you work as a PSO?

**Charisma** : (hushed voice) Don't tell anyone but I've logged in to CC while at the hospital. Can access the website from my special sex phone and it'll alert me to calls. If I'm not busy or passed out in the on-call room Charisma will pick up.

**Sage** : (smiling from ear to ear) Won’t tell a soul. I take it the bulk of your CC business is conducted in the privacy of your home?

**Charisma** : You take correctly. Oh, and I never answered your question. I’m online nearly every day, but often not for long. I finally have some time off so I've been on more frequently this week. Every minute counts toward paying off that loan.

**Sage** : Do residents get paid?

**Charisma** : Yes. Thank God.

**Sage** : How much longer do you think you'll continue being an operator?

**Charisma** : I believe it’ll be one of the following. One, when my loan is completely paid off. Two, one day I’ll abruptly decide to retire. Three, Carnal Cuties for whatever reason shuts down. Doubt I’d apply anywhere else. Four, if I should happen to fall for some lovely woman. Even if she’d be all right with my being a PSO I’d want to quit for her.

**Sage** : Aaw, that’s sweet.

**Charisma** : Darling, did I forget to tell you I’m sweet as apple pie? When I’m not talking dirty that is.

**Sage** : (chuckle) I can believe that. So, sweet thing, does anyone in your personal life know about your side job?

**Charisma** : My parents, siblings and a couple friends know.

**Sage** : Wow! Your immediate family knows…

**Charisma** : Wasn’t too worried about telling them. Hail from a pretty liberal family. Don’t get me wrong, they were surprised, but then I explained it and they accepted it. I have two siblings--and one of them has probably asked me a couple thousand questions. You’d think _she_ was writing an article.

**Sage** : Do you have any repeat customers?

**Charisma** : I do. I like those because you get to know them, what they like, the best way to help them come. I have one guy--we just had our four year anniversary in October.

**Sage** : Whenever you choose to retire I know he’ll miss you. (empties the wine goblet) Do you consider phone sex a form of cheating?

**Charisma** : Though there isn’t touching involved I do feel it is. It’s aural but you’re sharing a part of yourself with someone who isn’t your partner and unless they know about it, I feel they would have a right to feel betrayed. (takes a deep breath) I wrestle with some guilt when I learn a guy has an unaware girlfriend or wife, but to be honest with you that alone won’t cause me to end the call. I try focusing on the task at hand.

**Sage** : I won’t ask how much you get paid, but how do you get paid?

**Charisma** : Every Friday all funds I’ve amassed from calls, chats and tips are direct deposited into my bank account. PSO’s also have the option of being paid via checks sent by mail or through PayPal.

**Sage** : What are you wearing?

**Charisma** : (phone sex voice making a comeback) Is that your way of saying business is finished and now you wish to play, darling?

When the journalist promptly begins to stutter Charisma laughs.

**Charisma** : I’m just kidding with you.

**Sage** : What if I’m not?

Sage shakes her head while glaring toward the wine glass as though she blames it for the unexpected question. She was done. She couldn’t think of another question to ask so she should be thanking Charisma for her time and hang up.

**Charisma** : (an eyebrow rises) Sage, do you want me to kiss every inch of your body? Would you like to have my hands all over you? May I put my head between your thighs and massage that pussy with my tongue? I bet you taste so damn sweet.

**Sage** : (releases bottom lip to speak, voice coming out in little more than a whisper) Charisma…

**Charisma** : Yes, say my name, darling. You’ll be screaming it before long. (lifts hand to mouth and starts kissing the back of it)

**Sage** : Uh, what’re you doing?

**Charisma** : I’ve slid closer to you on the couch and I’m kissing the side of your neck while unbuttoning your shirt with one hand.

**Sage** : Why?

**Charisma** : How else am I gonna get your tits in my mouth? I’m hungry, darling. Need more of you. (the sensual kissing noises continue)

**Sage** : Oh God. (eyes briefly shutting as she swears she can feel lips tasting the delicate skin of her neck) Charisma, I don’t want to be your latest customer. The interview was business for me and this is business for you.

**Charisma** : Sage?

**Sage** : Yes?

**Charisma** : Listen to me. What I’m about to tell you is the absolute truth. Listen, all right?

**Sage** : (whispers) I’m listening.

**Charisma** : I sincerely, absolutely, so badly want to fuck you. I’ll donate the money from this call. In fact, you may pick the charity and I’ll do it in your name. I don’t care about the money and I’m not viewing this as business. I want you.

**Sage** : (swallows so hard she’s certain Charisma heard it) Why? Why do you want me?

**Charisma** : You fascinate me and you’re beautiful.

**Sage** : You don’t know what I look like.

**Charisma** : Don’t need to. I know what beauty feels like. Just need you now. Sage, I’m stretched out on my couch and my hand is actually inside my underwear. I’m stroking myself.

Sage is about to tell Charisma they should end the call when she is asked to hang on. Less than two minutes later her phone alerts her to an incoming message. Email from Charisma, the address following the at sign belonging to Carnal Cuties. Without realizing she’s holding her breath she downloads the attached file, a surprised expletive fleeing her mouth upon watching a ten second video of a petite hand stroking a well-groomed vaginal area. What strikes her the most is that hand has ‘Hello Sage’ written across the back of it.

**Charisma** : Except for one past lover, I’ve never sent such a video to someone. I’m serious, Sage. I want you. Unless the feeling isn’t mutual I think we should get naked.

Perhaps the wine has given her courage. Or dumped her into a well of insanity. Either way Sage begins to remove her clothes while a rustling sound reaches her ears, giving her the impression Charisma truly is taking her clothes off.

Journalist Sage interrupts one more time.

**Sage** : Another interview question then I'm done.

**Charisma** : Go ahead, darling.

**Sage** : You don’t touch yourself during calls but do you feign orgasms?

**Charisma** : All the time. (pause) But not tonight. Not with you. Are you naked, Sage?

**Sage** : (pulling in a deep and hopefully calming breath) Yes.

**Charisma** : (softly, seductively) Come with me. Follow me to the bedroom. I stand up and hold out my hand for you to take.

**Sage** : Since this interview has taken place at my apartment shouldn’t you be following _me_ to the bedroom?

**Charisma** : (chuckles) Good catch. I don’t know the layout of your place yet. Please lead the way. (mouth curving into a grin behind the headset’s microphone) Now I’m in the perfect position to ogle your ass while we walk.

**Sage** : Not if I pick you up in my arms and carry you down the short hall leading to my bedroom.

**Charisma** : Ooh, you’re so strong, darling.

**Sage** : I do eat plenty of spinach.

**Charisma** : (the grin broadens) Popeye would be so proud of you. My arms wrapped around your shoulders I glance around as best I can while you’re holding me. This is a lovely room!

**Sage** : Yeah? You don’t think all the jigsaw puzzles I’ve put together, framed and attached to the walls is geeky?

**Charisma** : No, I think it’s cute. You must have a lot of patience to have done all these.

**Sage** : That along with too much time on my hands. (smiles in response to another chuckle)

**Charisma** : How many puzzles have you done? Ballpark?

**Sage** : I prefer puzzles that are at least five-hundred pieces with my favorite being a thousand. I’ve probably completed at least two-hundred though most of those I didn’t glue and keep.

**Charisma** : Wow! I’m impressed, darling. How did you get into it?

**Sage** : Even with the regular consumption of spinach my arms are getting tired so I’m going to place you on the bed once I pull the cover down. Then I slide in next to you, both of us resting on our side facing each other. (pauses while scratching her chin) As a child I was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia and--

**Charisma** : (words sound muffled when she covers her mouth) Oh, Sage...cancer?

**Sage** : Yes, but don’t worry. I’m fine. As you probably know after ten years of being cancer free you’re considered cured and I’ve been in remission eleven.

**Charisma** : (still feeling on the verge of shedding tears) Thank God.

**Sage** : (soft smile) I do that daily. Though it was working chemo took a lot out of me so Mama got me started with the puzzles. Jigsaws were something to do, something to focus on and they didn’t take a lot of energy. I was addicted after completing my first. Still work on puzzles, but not as much as I did during my teen years.

**Charisma** : You’re a survivor. A beautiful survivor.

**Sage** : (blushing again) Please stop calling me beautiful.

**Charisma** : Why? You are. (faint moan) I’ve just slid atop you, legs between yours. My already hardening nipples graze yours as I lower my head, impassioned mouth melding with the sweetest lips. Mm, speaking of addiction I’m already addicted to your mouth and I crave more, so the tip of my tongue pushes, begging to be allowed entrance.

**Sage** : (nervously whispers) I’ve never had phone sex.

**Charisma** : (whispers without nervousness) Then I look forward to popping your phone sex cherry.

**Sage** : (regardless of remaining nerves she briefly laughs) Okay. (nods) Pop away.

**Charisma** : Are you going to allow my tongue inside your mouth?

**Sage** : My lips eagerly part.

**Charisma** : My tongue slips within and engages yours in a leisure dance as I gently rock atop you, one hand in your hair, the other caressing along your side, your skin so soft and warm under my fingertips. Sage?

**Sage** : Yes?

**Charisma** : Do you want me?

**Sage** : Yes. So much.

**Charisma** : Are you touching yourself?

**Sage** : Oh, yes. Are you?

**Charisma** : I am. My fingers are slippery. You already have me damp. Sage, do you want me to fuck you?

**Sage** : (face burning) Yes. I do.

**Charisma** : Tell me. Explain what you want.

**Sage** : I want… (pauses, tongue swiping over her lips) I want your tongue…

**Charisma** : Go on.

**Sage** : Want your tongue all over and inside my pu...me.

**Charisma** : It’s not a bad word, darling. Finish. Inside your what?

**Sage** : Put your tongue inside my pussy. I wish to ride your face. (libido heightening the second she hears a growl)

**Charisma** : You ever 69?

**Sage** : Familiar with that position but never attempted it.

**Charisma** : Care to try it with me? Think we should attend the pussy buffet together.

Usually Sage might have found that humorous, but she was currently too aroused to muster up a chuckle. Instead she moaned while deft fingers circled the hardened bud between her thighs.

**Sage** : Is it all you can eat?

The back of her head resting against a decorative throw pillow, a grin flashes across Charisma’s lips as she grinds the heel of her hand between parted thighs.

**Charisma** : Of course. I’ve been sucking on your tongue for a while, but desiring more of you with a final kiss, I make my way down your body, licking a path to your breasts. One at a time my mouth envelops your nipples, tongue flicking back and forth.

**Sage** : Oh my...hand flying to the base of your head, I arch my back. You feel my nipples? You feel how erect you’ve made them? They’re almost painful yet I love...every sensation. Your tongue...it’s so wet and hot...wouldn’t mind if you tugged them a little.

**Charisma** : (another growl rumbling up her throat and into the microphone) The fingers of my right hand tug on one nipple while my teeth pull its twin, followed by the flat of my tongue soothing it.

**Sage** : My body writhes underneath you. Charisma...as good as that feels…

**Charisma** : Lower, darling?

**Sage** : Fuck yes.

**Charisma** : Oh, Sage. Be careful. You’ll make me come too soon and I want to come as close to you as possible.

**Sage** : Then I suggest you turn around and aim your crotch over my mouth.

Sage is visibly surprised by her own boldness. Never in a million years would she have expected herself to say something like that. Especially to a complete stranger.

**Charisma** : The bed squeaking underneath us, I swiftly obey your instruction. Thighs on either side of your head, my drenched, swollen pussy hovers your lips begging your tongue to come out and play.

**Sage** : A second later it does indeed come out, its tip teasing along your slickened length. It desperately wants to be inside you, but it intends to wait until heated breath is felt between my thighs.

**Charisma** : (grins) Immediately taking the hint and more than happy to oblige, I lower my body, mouth soon above your center. I use my fingers to part your folds, moaning as you glisten before me. Did I cause this, darling?

**Sage** : All you. I can’t take it any longer. I need to sample you. Therefore, my tongue plunges into your velvet heat.

**Charisma** : Ooh, right on cue my hips rock upon your face. You feel so good...tongue fuck me, Sage. Fuck me as mouth attempts to devour you, sucking and lapping your pussy...up and down…

**Sage** : (breathing heavily) My hips move in rhythm with yours...rolling my tongue I repeatedly thrust, your juices coating it.

**Charisma** : (breathing just as heavily) My tongue takes a stroll around your clit, then I draw it into my mouth. Meanwhile, hips move faster...Sage, I won’t last much longer…

**Sage** : Come for me, Charisma. I want your juices coating not only my tongue, but my throat too. And if your tongue lashes my clit I’m gonna come right behind you.

**Charisma** : Technically, you’re underneath me.

**Sage** : Shut up and flick it. (despite being on the verge of an orgasm she grins when she hears her phone lover chuckle)

**Charisma** : A bossy streak. I like that, darling. Also like whipping that plump little clit with my tongue, unmercifully attacking it from all angles since I know that drives you...fuck...Sage...I’m gonna…

**Sage** : Me too. Slipping a hand between your thighs, fingers massage...your nub as my tongue fucks you fast...your juices dribbling on my cheeks...down my...chin...shit...ooh, shit, Charis--fuck me...fuck me...fuck...ooh, fuck…

Neither capable of further narrating, they listen to one another, imagining each other’s vigorous tongue as they reach their respective climax. Once orgasm is achieved Sage and Charisma become silent except for audible respiration.

Charisma checks her phone glad that an hour hasn’t passed. It occurs to her that this time spent with Sage has been the best she’s had in awhile. She ponders mentioning that, but then negatively shakes her head. No use getting mushy. This was a booty call with someone she would never meet. They enjoyed themselves. Now it was time to go their separate ways.

**Sage** : That was amazing.

**Charisma** : (smiling) Yes, it was. And we beat the clock too.

**Sage** : I hadn’t even thought about that. If the call had lasted longer than an hour you would have been worth it.

**Charisma** : I should let you go. So you can put that article together.

**Sage** : (hopes her disappointment is concealed) I suppose you have customers waiting. Thank you for your time, Charisma.

Charisma fully intends to make herself unavailable for the remainder of the evening as she hates the thought of fantasizing with anyone else tonight.

**Charisma** : Truly my pleasure. Goodnight, darling. Hope you have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

**Sage** : (swallowing around the small lump in her throat) Same to you. Goodnight, Charisma.

 

=========================

 

Evidently, I had decided to end 2015 on an imbecilic note. How they managed to achieve it I haven’t the foggiest idea. I can’t even blame it on alcohol since I didn’t drink anything stronger than a Coke while at a friend’s New Year's Eve party tonight. I allowed a few friends to convince me to jump on a trampoline. Oh, but that isn’t all. Jumping on a trampoline sober isn’t stupid. Jumping on a trampoline sober while blindfolded? That’s about ten different shades of stupid.

Therefore, here I am in the emergency room, which is busy on the last day of the year. My left ankle is fucking killing me, the pain rippling up my leg. Oh, and did I mention I’m alone? Now to be perfectly honest I suggested the betrothed pair who drove me to the hospital return to the party in order to continue celebrating with everyone else. I called myself being a good sport, although they were the main ones egging me on to jump without sight.

They took me up on it. Immediately. No damn hesitation in sight. Yes, I told them to go back to the party, but I fully expected them to decline. I mean they’re engaged to each other and they’re already together. They could have just as easily smooched in the ER at midnight, but they seemed all too happy to drop my ass off and bolt back to the fun. No one with any sense wants to spend New Year’s Eve hanging out at the hospital, but it would have been nice if my friends insisted on staying to keep me company.

Oh well. Enough of my bitching. As the idiom goes no use crying over spilled milk. However, if the pain isn’t alleviated soon I just might cry over my throbbing ankle. I’ve experienced sprains before, but this...this is the king of all sprains I’ve ever endured.

I try focusing on the positive. At least something good happened lately. Cruella de Bitch loved my PSO article, which will be published in the first 2016 issue of Fantabulous Magazine. I also received my bonus, which was much bigger than expected.

A sigh escapes me. The article causes me to think about Charisma, which is something I’ve actively been trying not to do. I don’t know her and we didn’t communicate that long yet I miss her. Each day against my better judgement she has crossed my mind and each day I find myself still missing her. I’ve even been on the verge of calling a few times, but then thankfully manage to talk myself out of it. We had that one night. It’s over. I need to move on and eventually insert her into the fond memory file.

The nurse said the doctor would be in to see me soon. I glance toward the clock noting that it’ll soon be midnight. I also note that soon was sixteen minutes ago. I apologize for my crankiness. Intense pain does that to me.

Recalling that I have my phone and this hospital has free Wi-Fi, I’m about to reach toward my jacket pocket when a knock draws my attention. Since the small room has a curtain instead of a door the petite brunette standing just outside of it had to knock on the wall. Our eyes meeting she offers a pleasant smile and I take notice of a pair of cute dimples. Dressed in a long, white coat I assume she’s the doctor.

“Sage Miller?”

I nod as a peculiar tingle races through me. “That’s me.”

Walking inside and up to bed she shakes my hand, hers warm despite the chilly hospital. Why are hospitals always so damn frigid? No wonder it isn’t unheard of for people to become sick once they go to the hospital. “Wish it could be under better conditions, but it’s nice to meet you, Sage. I’m Dr. Annabelle Charm.”

My eyebrows move upward. “Dr. Charm? Well, that’s...charming.” I wink at her and that tingle returns once she laughs. I’m certain I’ve never seen her. I would have remembered this cutie yet there is something so famil--

Cutie. Carnal Cuties. Charisma. Charm.

So many C’s…

It couldn’t be. Charisma is a doctor in Miami, Florida. Annabelle Charm is a doctor in New York City. Two different people who happen to have very, very similar voices and laughs. Dr. Charm is speaking to me. I see her lips moving yet I don’t have a clue what she’s saying because Charisma won’t get the hell out of my head and the tingling is a distraction as are those deep dimples. I wonder if Charisma has dimples.

Okay, stop thinking about Dr. Charisma and focus on whatever Dr. Charm is trying to relay to you.

She smiles again. “All right?”

I nod without comprehending why. I could have just agreed to give her my first born child. Having forgotten about the pain I observe Dr. Charm walking over to the sink where she thoroughly washes her hands. Using a couple paper towels to dry them, she moves toward the end of my bed, warm fingers beginning to touch along my ankle and foot. She asks me questions as she examines my ankle. I answer them and try not to swear when reminded of the pain.

“Can you put any weight on it?”

“No. My friends had to find a wheelchair to bring me inside.” Then they happily ditched me when I said they could go back to the party.

“Darling, I think you might have broken it. I’ll order an X-ray for confirmation and to find the precise location of the break.”

Dr. Charm just called me darling. Dr. Charisma also called me that. I’m about to smother on the coincidences. Once again I’m not paying her words any attention. I just see pretty lips painted with a delicate shade of lipstick moving.

“Dr. Charm?” I interrupt.

“Yes?”

“I bet you have an abundance of...charisma. Especially when on the...phone talking with those of the opposite...sex. Am I right? Is that how you...operate?”

First she merely regards me with a blank stare. Then she blinks followed by cocking her head to the side and continuing to stare, although her eyes have narrowed. Then a smirk begins to emerge. “I’ll be damned. You’re _my_ Sage.”

Oh wow. It’s official. I just met the woman who recently popped my phone sex cherry. Suspecting it is one thing. Confirmation is quite another. Never thought this moment would come. “ _Your_ Sage? Really? You couldn’t get off the phone fast enough after...getting off.” Smack me sideways. I sound like a jilted lover. It was a one night stand. She doesn’t owe me anything. Yet, it still hurt. I didn’t want to admit it, but she hurt my feelings afterward.

Any amusement she might have felt fades away. Dr. Charm shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Sage. I didn’t want to, but I felt awkward. I didn’t want the call to end but if it didn’t what next? Usually I don’t mind speaking with someone afterward, but you were different. You did something to me. Something to me that I loved yet at the same time it terrified me. How could I feel something for someone I just met? I thought distance was the best thing for us both.”

“You told me you lived in Florida.”

Expression sheepish, Dr. Charm finds the thin blanket covering the lower half of my body interesting. “Um yeah. Not sure why I did that. A spur of the moment decision.”

“Guess I understand wanting to conceal real information from callers. I could have been a PSO serial killer.” I shrug. “Still could be.”

“Looking at you I’m sensing you’re not.”

My turn to smirk. “Such a compliment right there, Dr. Charm.”

She laughs. I’ve just decided I love her laugh even more in person. “Please call me Anna.”

“Am I gonna have to wear a cast, Anna?”

“Depending on what the X-ray shows you might. We’ll find you a pretty one along with a cool set of crutches.” She winks at me and smiles. “Speaking of, better get that ordered.” She glances around my room. “Are your friends here?”

“Encouraged them to return to the party so when we’re just about done here I’ll give them a call to come pick me up.”

“My shift is almost over so I could give you a ride.” She looks just as surprised by her response as I feel. “Might take a bit with the New Year’s Eve traffic, but it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, darling.” Anna jabs a finger toward the curtain. “Going to order your X-ray and medication for the pain.” She looks toward the clock and grins. “See you next year.”

“Next year, eh?” I fold my arms over my chest. “Damn, this is a slow ass hospital.” Anna’s joyous laughter pleases my ears as she leaves my room.

The ball will be dropping soon. I think about watching the festivities on my phone, but it would probably only depress me since I’m alone in a chilly emergency room with a possibly broken ankle. Oh woe is me. Eyes shut I think I’ve somehow drifted off when I feel someone tapping my shoulder. Lids rising, I spot the sexiest doctor in this hospital standing near my head, hazel eyes appearing nervous.

“Am I dying?” I ask feigning sorrow. “Tell me, doctor. Am I the first person to perish from a broken ankle?”

Anna both laughs and rolls her eyes. “Though the X-ray hasn’t been taken yet I’m confident you’ll make a full recovery. I um,” nervous eyes flit toward the clock, “it’s almost 2016. In less than a minute.”

“Yes…” Really, why is she so nervous all of the sudden?

“I hadn’t planned on kissing anyone, but if your lips are free…”

Realization slaps me upside the head. Anticipating actually feeling her lips my heart begins to race. Glad I’m not hooked up to one of those EKG machines. “Why, Dr. Charm, are you allowed to kiss your patients?”

“No. That’s definitely frowned upon. However, for you I’d be willing to break the rules.”

Ten seconds. We have ten seconds.

“I love me a rebel.” Her lab coat open, I grab the front of her blouse and pull her toward me. We’re both smiling with only a few inches and seconds to go. Suddenly I don’t mind so much that I fell off the trampoline while blindfolded. I think meeting Charisma aka Annabelle Charm may have been worth it. “Happy New Year’s, Anna,” I whisper.

“I’m predicting 2016 is going to be very happy, darling.”

Tucked behind the curtain enveloped in a tingle inducing kiss we hear staff members celebrating the arrival of a new year.


End file.
